


Starcrossed

by NerdyMind



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Exchangelock AU Exchange 2014, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Potterlock, Teenlock, exchangelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyMind/pseuds/NerdyMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my <a href="http://exchangelock.tumblr.com/">exchangelock</a> gift for <a href="http://teacuphuman09.tumblr.com/">teacuphuman</a> who said they liked angst with a happy ending and teenlock and potterlock so this is what popped out of my brain.   </p><p>John and Sherlock meet several times during their tenure at Hogwarts.  But as fate would play out, it is always the worst times.  The boys have a long and bumpy road to get to a good place between them, but it all works out in the end.  The stars are far away, but given time they will align.</p><p>Rated M for a few sexy references but nothing explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teacuphuman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meetings are never quite predictable.

The first time the boys met they were on the Hogwarts Express. Third years. Barely fourteen and settling in to a comfortable life at the famous school of witchcraft and wizardry. Mike Stamford, a Gryffindor with a sunny disposition that went above and beyond his grades, lead a short blue eyed blond boy (or rather dragged along reluctantly) by the hand to the final passenger car. Inside, a tall boy with beautiful dark curls and the palest skin anyone had ever seen outside merfolk was stuffed into the far corner of his seat. The peek of blue beneath his robes said he was Ravenclaw. His eyes were glued to the passing scenery, lost in thought to the casual observer, desperately avoiding conversation to the observant. John surmised the second option given the shy glances and aborted conversational attempts from a cute Gryffindor sitting across from him.

“Molly Hopper, Sherlock Holmes,” Mike began, “this is--”

“John Watson,” pale green eyes snapped from the window, Sherlock’s gaze devouring every inch of the boy before him. “Great Grandson of James Watson, Auror. Muggle raised, mother’s side. Your father was a wizard but died while you were young. You’re a Hufflepuff beater with aspirations for Team Captain but… hmmm you haven’t decided yet have you?”

“Sorry what? How did you?”

“You’re still floundering between Auror, Healer or Quidditch pro. Exceptionally skilled in all three, as you’ve obviously tutored Mike in multiple classes.”

John gaped. Was the boy psychic? Was he using forbidden magic to read his mind?

“No,” Sherlock answered the unspoken, “I am not a psychic nor have I used a charm on you. I simply observe. Please, have a seat.” His eyes were gone, locked back on the blur of passing trees. John sucked in the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Turning to Mike for some sort of explanation only to get shrugged shoulders and, “Yeah. He’s always like that. Brilliant that one. Tutored me in Potions both years. Would’ve blown up half the school if not for Sherlock.” John laughed and settled in beside Molly. Deciding Sherlock would not return her attention, Molly shifted in the seat and began regaling John and Mike with tales of her mother's haunted ceramic cat collection. Mrs. Hooper, it turned out, worked in the Muggle Artifact Department. Molly was fueled with an endless supply of anecdotes and funny stories. She was charming and wholly more talkative than her frowning cabinmate so the ride passed by in comfortable conversation.

Once at school, John was stuck in his own house, away from Molly and Mike. But he often inquired after the girl and Sherlock while tutoring Mike in Charms. Okay, it was mostly Sherlock he asked about. The taller boy was always busy working on some new experiment or serving time in detention for being, as Mike put it, “a bit too observant and vocal.” The year passed without another chance to speak, but Sherlock was always there, hovering like a curious puzzle in the back of John’s mind.


	2. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendships require honesty, do they not?

The first time they had a class together was the following year. John had started dating a third year and fellow Hufflepuff, Mary Morstan. Though he still had trouble making friends with his hectic course load, Mary had patience and never nagged John when he canceled their dates for practice or studies. She was a ray of endless sunshine in the Hufflepuff house. Always attending his games and cheering loudly. Mary, John and Sherlock shared a class that year, Herbology. Sherlock did not seem to care for the course and, as John observed, put in minimal effort until an assignment mid semester piqued his interest.

The class was sorted into groups of three, landing Mary, John and Sherlock as lab partners. The assignment seemed simple enough: plant, nurture and harvest nectar from the Narcissa Orchid. Sherlock was cordial, finally explaining how he’d deduced John’s history through small clues in his luggage and robes. But as much as Sherlock seemed to enjoy flaying open the lives of his classmates, he was tight lipped on much about himself.

After the first week of minimal conversation, John waited until Mary went to the back shed for extra soil before prodding. “Alright, spill it Sherlock. What’s so special about this flower that your eyes lit up the moment Professor Longbottom said its name?” Sherlock stopped pruning thorns from their seedling to look at John. His expression could only be described as awe. “Perhaps you aren’t an idiot then,” the boy answered smiling. It was the most brilliant smile John had ever seen. His own mouth responding in kind before he could process why. A flash of excitement flickered across pale green eyes as Sherlock flipped his Herbology book for John to read. “Here, John,” he explained leaning in closer to whisper, “The Narcissa Orchid nectar is a necessary ingredient for the potion I have been working on. The few drops I acquired last semester were dreadfully expensive and short lived but Professor Longbottom says I may purchase any successful draughts procured this semester directly from the school.”

John beamed because Sherlock beamed. “Amazing! Really that is just fantastic. Maybe we can help the other students then, keep an eye on their plants so there will be a higher yield for you, yeah?”

“John! What an absolutely brilliant idea! Yes.” Sherlock’s smile was back even brighter than before. John’s entire body heating up under the glow of that Ravenclaw’s grin. If Mary was a ray of sunshine, Sherlock was the entire star. When he spoke about potions, his entire face lit up. Watching as the taller boy did a quick celebratory spin before returning to his pruning, John decided that Sherlock’s smile was the most precious secret. Locking it away in his memory as something exquisite and rare.

Of course rare things are always so fragile and fleeting. One rainy afternoon when most students had opted out of Herbology for the day, the trio found themselves alone with Professor Longbottom checking the growth of all the Orchids. Should all go well, Sherlock’s potion needs would be met for months if not years to come.

John tried to focus. His hands shaking and uncooperative. He kept stealing glances towards Mary. She was antsy, constantly slipping off for supplies they did not need and bringing back just enough that she would have to run off again moments later. She had been acting distant for a while. Avoiding John’s eye in the Hufflepuff common room. Snipping at the blond when he mentioned Sherlock or Herbology. John was lost in thought, shears nearly slipping when Sherlock snapped his fingers before glazed blue eyes and scowled.

“Please do pay attention before you sever the entire bulb. Honestly John, she’s been cheating on you with that sniveling twit David for months now. I thought you were smarter than this.” Sherlock spoke the painful observation as if he’d just informed the shorter boy that his shoelace was untied. But John flushed, all at once heartbroken and angry. He lashed out at the only person within reach.

“God, Sherlock, can’t you ever just, think before you talk?” When the lanky boy turned back, red faced and tightlipped in shock, John screamed in frustration, smashing their pot from the table in a puff of purple pollen and storming off. He didn’t care if he heard a broken sob before he slammed the door. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

John would serve two weeks in detention for his outburst and later drop the course to avoid seeing either of them again. Repeating to himself a mantra for the remaining months. _This is why you don’t make friends Watson. This is why you will always be alone._


	3. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was just trying to help..."

The first time they fought was in the middle of year five. John had stayed late on the Quidditch pitch to get in some solo practice before supper when he heard yelling from behind the stands. Dropping everything but his wand, John crept up on the scene.

Two boys, Slytherin by the scarves, were standing over someone curled into their robes, trying to protect what looked to be a small patch of Bien Noir Lilies. It was too dark to see their house scarf but as John blinked the clouds shifted and moonlight danced across a familiar shock of wild curls and sharp cheekbones.

The shorter boy exuded a commanding presence. His hair, wand and shoes sleek black and polished to perfection. He paced about, twirling two wands behind his back, one of them John identified as Sherlock’s sleek cherrywood with a hematite handle. His cohort was taller, several inches over Sherlock even, highlighted further by his towering form looming over the crumpled boy between them.

The boy in charge spoke, his voice a sing song lilt as he paced a slow circle around Sherlock, “What shall we do with this one then? The little fairy out after hours playing with his flowers again. Kick his ribs in again? No, that wasn’t very effective. Perhaps something more permanent this time so he learns his lesson.”  Sherlock flinched at the threat. Sweeping his robes wider in an effort to cover the flowers. “Seb, kick up his little garden.”

The cowering boy looked up then, his nose was bloodied, a dark bruise blooming under his right eye. “Please Jim--”

“It’s Moriarty you dirty Muggle lover,” the raven haired boy shrieked. “You’d think a Holmes would understand the respect of a pureblood name. But clearly your family’s legacy died the moment you joined Ravenclaw.”

John inched closer, his vision gone red, fist clenching dangerously around his wand. “Oi! Get away from him.”

Moriarty and his henchman turned towards the advancing ball of fury. Sizing John up in a glance, the taller boy did the worst thing imaginable. He laughed. “Watson? Mudblood Johnny? Is that you?”

The nickname snapped something in John. A memory from year one. Jim Moriarty and the dimwitted blond who followed him about, oh yes, Sebastian Moran. Of course. He was just much taller now. He clenched his teeth, swallowing back every forbidden curse threatening to pour from his throat. “I will not ask again. Step away from Sherlock Holmes. Now.”

Jim stepped back, eyebrow arched in surprise. “What’s a worthless little shit like you going to do about it?” His question hung between them as Moriarty dance stepped backwards and ground a polished heel into one of the exposed lilies. Sherlock’s eyes darted around looking for something to save what he could. He had a dozen protection spells at his disposal but Jim still had his wand.

John could never fully recall what happened next though Sherlock will gladly embellish the tale when he’s had one too many butterbeers. A flash of magic flared out alarmingly fast. Unspoken magic, disarming both bullies. All three wands went flying towards the Quidditch pitch. Jim took off running, grabbing his own wand on the way and disappearing. But Seb was looking for a fight. Rearing a lanky leg back he laid into Sherlock, three swift kicks to the ribs until the prone boy groaned and rolled from the flower bed clutching his side in pain.

Running to Sherlock’s side, John looked up to see Sebastian grinding his heels into each remaining flower. John did not think. He just ran forward, tackling the taller boy. Punching and kicking him until it was the Slytherin curled into his robes, begging for mercy. John’s fist clocked back, ready for one more punch when a cool hand encircled his wrist.

“Stop, John. You’ve done enough.” Jerking from the grip, John sighed, dropping his head, loosening his hold on Sebastian’s robes and shoving the bully away. “Go on, get out of here.”

Turning back to check Sherlock’s injuries, he was faced with green eyes gone silver and dark with fury. Sherlock was mad at him?

“You’ve done enough... damage,” Sherlock said, gesturing towards the destroyed flowerbed. Not one petal left in sight. Before John could answer or apologise, Sherlock was on his feet crossing the grass to fetch his wand. “Just go back to your house and leave me alone.”

“But.. I thought. I mean,” John felt a pain blooming in his chest. “I just wanted to help,” he whispered. But no one was around to hear it.


	4. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't hate you. Believe me, I've tried.

The first time they opened up to one another was quite by accident. During year six, Sherlock decided to take Astronomy as a throwaway class. But more importantly, it was the perfect class to avoid running into a blue eyed blond haired boy who had haunted his dreams all Summer. Few Quidditch players took the class given its late meeting time and their routinely early practices. Sherlock just needed some time away to clear his head. That was all. Climbing the steps to the Astronomy tower that first evening, he was light footed and whistling.

“Sherlock?” the boy so named froze on the steps. _That voice. No no no no. Godric please no_. “John,” he tried to remain casual, dragging out the one syllable name. Calm. Turning around to face his fantasy. It didn’t help. John had grown, taller, broader, his eyes had a new edge and mystery to them and Sherlock had to shake his head and turn away before continuing. “Curious seeing you here. Meeting someone?” Sherlock hoped for all of a millisecond. His ever observant eyes had already seen the shared text and starchart parchments.

“Nope. I’m here for class,” John answered, stepping closer. “You?”

“Same,” Sherlock sighed in resignation, resuming his climb to the classroom. “Shall we?” The last few steps taken begrudgingly. His once lively feet suddenly heavy with exasperation.

As predicted, the classroom was quite bare. Only eight students enrolled and a presently absent professor left the other six students lost in gossip and whispered conversation. Sherlock chose a cushion in the back, clenching his jaw when John followed suit and settled beside him. Of the many conversations they needed to have, neither boy knew where to begin but the encroaching silence was driving Sherlock mad. Looking up across the table between them he finally asked, “I was under the impression that Quidditch players skipped this class. Late studies, early practices. Not the smartest combination for your schedules.” John looked away, hands settling into his lap. “Yeah.” He sounded sad, almost wistful.

Sherlock leaned back against the velvet draped wall taking a new look at the boy. He seemed more reserved than the year before. Withdrawn. Where had the sunlight gone from the once golden glow of his skin and hair and smile? Where was the taut ball of energy that had crashed into his life and dreams? The boy he’d snuck into Quidditch practices to spy on. The beaming wonderment on a broomstick who had Sherlock coming up with excuses to attend games if just to catch a glimpse. John shifted under his scrutiny and Sherlock saw it. The source of his darkness. He blinked, willing the deduction to go away. Prove false.

“It was you,” Sherlock said sitting forward, reaching across the table. His hand lingered then settled on John’s left shoulder. The boy stilled beneath his touch. A shock coursing through them both before the taller boy continued. “Just after the end of term. I’d read about it but there weren’t any names mentioned. Ah I should have figured. Molly’s fat grey cat. That’s the one that was--”

“Yes,” John turned into his touch, letting Sherlock’s hand slide from his shoulder to his elbow but looking up to finally meet his eyes. “I was meeting her and Mike at the station when those… when Sebastian and his people ambushed us. Mike was beaten pretty badly, Molly was cornered and I just, I got between them. I had to do something. It was all my fault after all. He was upset with me, not them. Vesuvius took the brunt of the hit. Dead in an instant they said, so she didn’t feel any pain. But Molly was screaming and screaming. I can still heard it when I try to sleep. Last sound I heard for weeks. I woke up in St. Mungos. Said I’d been clipped in the shoulder with a curse. Not enough to kill me but they can’t heal it. I’m just going to be in pain and have stiff joints now.  So yeah, no more Quidditch.”

Sherlock stared. Nothing to add, no empty words of sympathy could express the tragedy of what John had lost. He’d been promoted to Captain at the end of last term. Sherlock himself had seen five different recruiters watching the blond at practice and matches. But now that was all taken away. At least… “Seb was sent to Azkaban though, right? And Jim?”

“Jim wasn’t there. Doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, remember?” John tried to smile at the shared memory but the muscles were atrophied. The last three months a vicious cycle of waking from nightmares and crying himself back to sleep. A tiny twitch was all he could muster, but Sherlock caught it all the same.

“John I…” his eyes were red hot, brimming with emotions. “I want you to know that I feel terrible for yelling at you like I did. I know you were only trying to help. And you did. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, it could have ended a lot worse.”

“I tried to send you flowers.”

“What?”

“I asked Mike to deliver them but he said it was best to just leave you alone when you’re upset. But I saved a bit and bought replacements for all the flower I keep crushing. Your orchid and then all those lilies. I’d kept them in my mother’s garden but… but they died while I was away.” John’s voice was cracking, dropping to a whisper. “I’m sorry. I ruin everything I touch. Even friendships.”

Sherlock blinked and blinked again. Frozen as he processed everything. “You bought… so you.. that means…”

“Yes.”

“We’re friends?”

“Yes, of course. Of course we’re friends. I wanted things to get back to how we were. I mean, before you hated me enough to take a class you don’t like just to avoid seeing me.”

“I don’t..that’s not..” Sherlock flushed red, suddenly all too aware of his hand still resting at John’s arm. He pulled back, flooded with the memory of hot nights twisted in soaked sheets. His cock betraying him. He’d tried hating John. But he just couldn’t. There was a light inside the boy that would not be extinguished and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to get just the tiniest glimpse of it again. But he couldn’t very well say _John I took this class because I’ve been wanking to fantasies of writhing beneath your sweat slicked body for the past three months. You’re driving me crazy and I can’t sleep and I didn’t think you would be here_. Instead he lied.

“Don’t be ridiculous,John. I took the course because I am curious whether it poses any use to my Potions and Alchemy studies.”

“Right.”

“I couldn’t hate you. Believe me, I tried.” That was the closest to a confession John would get for the day. But it was enough. He smiled, genuine and bold. His eyes losing some of their edge for the briefest moment. Sherlock found his breath and sat back as John launched into a lecture.

“You know, Sherlock, there are actually lots of potions that require astrological ingredients or timing. A running knowledge of stardust and planet positions could be very useful to you.” As it would turn out, John was brilliant at Astronomy. And Sherlock enjoyed listening to the boy speak. Before they could get deeper into conversation, a purple cloud rose up the spiraling staircase and hovered above the center desk flashing twice then morphing into a tall thin brunette. Professor Adler had decided to turn up after all.

“Apologies all around for my tardiness. Now let’s get started right away, Mars is just about to pass overhead and we don’t want to miss it. Split into pairs and grab a telescope from the cabinets. Quickly.”

John inched across the cushion, scooting closer to Sherlock in an attempt to stake his claim on the Ravenclaw as his partner. Their thighs and shoulders brushed briefly as Sherlock set up the telescope between them and both boys shivered. A collective chill running between them.  Neither boy daring to voice the hope thrumming in their hearts that maybe, just maybe, this year would be better.


	5. Aurora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> star gazing and hand holding? yes please.

The first time they held hands was in an empty classroom under a full moon. Two months into the semester, Professor Adler asked them both to stay after class and put away the telescopes. John eagerly accepted. He loved the Astronomy room. Its high ceilings and walls draped in dark velvets. Outdated starcharts with notes and addendums from each teacher the classroom had served. Overhead was a large circular moonroof above Professor Adler’s desk. Her antique telescope the centerpiece in a room full of cushions and padded floors. And best of all, no one from Quidditch to remind him of what he’d lost.

Sherlock sat among cushions and watched the dance of John’s shoulders beneath his shirt as he worked. The shorter boy’s discarded robes pooled beside him under a pile of books and notes. They had grown closer over the past few weeks. Finding time to meet between classes to talk or just share lunch in silence. Taking class trips together, once opting to stay behind and enjoy the peace of a near empty school instead of going to Hogsmeade. Sherlock suspecting it had to do with the recent Hufflepuff win but knew when not to pry. They'd even shared a few detentions together after getting into places forbidden to students, even sixth years.

“Sherlock?” John was suddenly sitting across from him, shaking his knee. The taller boy blinked, the room swimming back into focus. A smile playing up his lips as the visual memory left behind a gentle warmth. “You’ve been quiet today. Quiet for you, I mean. What’s on your mind?”

“Last week, detention. Do you remember that book we found?”

“Yeah.. wait, Sherlock... those potions are dangerous.”

“This one would be worth the risk.”

“No, Sherlock, look at me,” John settled on the floor before him, knees brushing. “It was in the restricted section. Re-stric-ted. As in dangerous. As in hey this could curse you or kill you.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, John.” Sherlock sighed, falling back to the cushions in a huff. John crawled up beside him, head propped up on his elbow to look down at his friend.

“Fine, tell me. Which potion is it then?”

Sherlock couldn’t meet John’s eyes and draped his arm across his face as a barrier before answering. “Forget it. You’ll laugh.”

“I promise I won’t laugh. It’s obviously bothering you and I want to help. Just tell me,” John settled back into the cushioned floor beside his friend, looking up through the moonroof as he waited for a reply.

Sherlock let his arm fall away and stared through the aged glass, focusing on an empty spot in the sky just east of Rasalhague. His heart was pounding. “There is someone I feel… affection for,” he began cautiously. “And this potion is supposed to confirm whether or not they feel the same. The Stella Condiviso or Shared Star elixir.”

“The soulmate potion…” John whispered. He remembered copying down that particular page for Sherlock. In fact he’d secretly duplicated one for himself. But the spell required rare stardust and a two month exposure to the Gemini constellation which meant he would have to leave it outside where anyone could find it. “So you.. that is... You like someone? As in a crush?”

“It’s not just a-- nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” Eyes shifting away from the darkness to the only source of light, and locked on the moon overhead. Desperately wishing there was an incantation to transport him to its surface and away from this conversation. “Just forget it, John. No one could care about me that way. I have enough trouble just making friends.”

“Who is she?” John barely choked the words out.

“He. And I’d rather not say.” Sherlock’s arm was back, hiding his flushed face. Waiting for the blowback from his confession.

“Oh. Oh,” John stilled beside him. _Here it comes_. Sherlock tensed. Silence falling between them. “Well who is **he** then?” John asked. His jaw twitched. Angry and possessive.

“Changing the subject completely, you never told me why you’re so interested in Astronomy.”

“Oh no you don’t,” John laughed, rolling over to pull Sherlock’s arm away from his face, pinning both to his sides as he leaned closer and held his gaze. “Tell me.”

“John, please!” Sherlock squirmed beneath the deep blue eyes drilling through him. He was terrified. Shaking.

Seeing the fear on his friend’s face made John’s heart sink. He dropped his grip and rolled back to the side. His own hands fidgeting between them, nervous. “Fine. I‘m sorry. I just thought… nevermind. I took this class the same reason you did. No Quidditch players.”

“Is that all?” Sherlock found his breath and continued. “You seem rather knowledgeable for someone who took this course on a whim.”

“My father used to take me out to my grandfather’s home in the country to look at the stars. I don’t have very many memories of him, but I remember the stars. And the stories he told me for each one.”

“Oh?” Sherlock took the offered distraction and prodded further. “Any interesting ones?”

“Loads,” John’s voice and attitude shifted immediately. Shuffling closer he settled his head just above Sherlock’s shoulder to get their view of the sky shared. If he enjoyed the warmth and closeness of the other boy’s body, it was just a bonus. Lifting a hand over their heads, John formed an L with his index and thumb. “Do you see those three bright orange stars to the left of my thumb, near Ophiuchus?”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s voice was barely a whisper. Leaning his head close enough to feel the brush of those short blonde hairs brushing his neck and chin. Breathing in the shorter boy’s mix of shampoo and cologne.

“Well that trio is new. I mean the stars aren’t new, of course. But there are trillions and neither the wizard world nor the muggle world has lived long enough to name them all. So after the Hogwart’s Battle those three stars were renamed Weasley, Granger and Potter. Cool right?”

Sherlock smiled and made a small hum in agreement. He was more interested in John’s fingers and his voice than the words themselves.

“My favorites were always the great wizard battles” John continued, letting his hand fall between them. “Heroes and warriors immortalized in the stars. When I was younger I always.. don’t laugh.. but I always wanted my own story up there. My own star.”

“That is a noble goal, John.” Sherlock leaned in closer. “I am sure you’ll accomplish many great things worthy of celestial reassignment.”

“As will you Sherlock. Someday we’ll both end up in that sky.” A silence settled between. John slowly inching his hand closer to Sherlock’s. Tentative and shy.

“You’re the only one who thinks so,” Sherlock said. A heavy sadness in his words. “Everyone else seems to find me worthless or disgraceful.”

“What? How could anyone--”

“Potions and alchemy. It’s just muggle science, John. There is very little mysticism or magic to what I do. But that’s what I find so fascinating about it. Not that it matters what I find fascinating... I’m a pureblood. Long family line of powerful witches and wizards. A great many things expected of me and I choose to _play with flowers_.” Sherlock spit the last words. Obviously repeating something he’d been told in hatred his entire life. The venom behind them cutting straight through John, angering him.

“No. Sherlock no, you listen to me. No, god no. You are... there is so much mystery and beauty in what you do. It’s amazing. Brilliant even. And you are a proper genius, yes, but there is a long tradition of great wizards before you who poured their lives into potions. There,” John pointed excitedly to a small cluster of red stars. “Doctor Ubbly. Great Healer, yes, but even greater potions master. Invented all manner of new cures. So many people owe him their lives. And there,” John shifted closer, his cheek almost flush to Sherlock’s. “The small blue star beside Beetlegeuse. Wiggenweld. His name and potions are practically household.”

Sherlock laughed. His voice carrying through them both. “Okay, okay, I believe you.”

“Anyway sod them all if they can’t appreciate how brilliant you are, Sherlock. Your family. Jim and his idiot clinger ons. Everyone. And if this crush, this guy, doesn’t return your affections then it’s his loss.” John let his hand fall back down to the cushion between them, brushing the back of his friend’s open palm. Sherlock twitched, slowly moving his hand closer until their fingers slid into place, interlocking. John was so warm. So much like the very stars he loved so much, burning up from the inside. The dark haired boy held his breath and waited. Counting down the seconds until a small sigh beside him blew hot air across his neck. John gave their fingers a little squeeze and nuzzled in closer.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you sure your crush slash soulmate won’t mind?”

“I don’t know, John. Do you?”

Realization played across John's features, pulling his mouth into a gorgeous smile.  “Not at all.”


	6. Corona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For John's 17th birthday, Sherlock gave him the stars.

The first time they kissed John had just turned seventeen. Blindfolded and tugged outside by a hand he’d just grown used to holding between classes and on the common lawn. Promised a birthday surprise behind the Herbology greenhouse. 

“Sherlock, slow down. It’s after hours. Won’t we get caught?”

“We won’t if you keep your voice down, now keep up. And no peeking.”

“This better be worth the detention I know we’ll be getting.”

“Your overbearing optimism never fails to brighten my every hour, John. Now stop. Stand just there. Okay tilt your head back and look straight up.” Sherlock slowly removed the blue striped tie from John’s eyes then stepped back and watched. The reaction was gradual. A slow glow spreading across the shorter boy’s entire frame. First his stance relaxed and his chin tilted up further as he searched the sky and then, he saw it and stilled. Realization then wonder danced across his features. His eyes grew wide then blinked and blinked in disbelief. Once the vision was accepted, small laugh lines pulled tight as a brilliant smile burst across his face.

“Sherlock… but.. how?” John reached out, fingers dancing over the new blue star in the night sky. It was brilliant and glowing an unnaturally deep shade, closer to his eyes than any actual flame.

“It’s a spell,” Sherlock said. Then, upon seeing John’s forehead crease in concern he hastily added, “Nothing from the restricted section, I promise. Obviously I cannot just make new stars, that’s beyond even me. But this is an illusion spell created through a... shared bond. While researching the soulmate potion I came across this in my reading. Participes Enim Stellam. Also known as the Shared Star spell.

“Same name?”

“Similar. Just a translation coincidence. But this is a spell, not a potion. Only the caster and the recipient can see the star.”

“So it, that’s what, ours?”

“It was something you really wanted and something I wanted to give. So I looked into it. I’m sure someday when we’re both long gone and you’ve saved the world with hundreds of new healing magics you’ll be up there with the real stars. But for now, this one will be ours. As long as one of us still lives the other can see it.”

“I.. I’m actually speechless,” John reached out for Sherlock’s hand, pulling him in close for a tight hug. His eyes watered, teetering on tears. “Thank you. Thank you so much... god, Sherlock.” John hugged him again, nuzzling into the taller boy’s neck. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I take it you like your gift then?” Sherlock laughed, hugging back. John’s hair tickled his chin and on impulse he placed a quick kiss to the top of his head. “And shush. You deserve everything the world has to offer.”

John sighed, contented. Tilting up to speak, his lips brushed across Sherlock’s exposed neck. A shiver raced through the taller boy as he pulled the blond closer. John’s hands took over, snaking up Sherlock’s back until they were at the back of his neck, fingers roaming through soft dark curls. He let his lips lead then, kissing a soft trail up the beautiful pale neck beneath his mouth, stopping just below Sherlock’s ear to nip and lick and bite.

The atmosphere shift was immediate. Sherlock pushed John back just enough to bend down and take his lips. Too many weeks of wet dreams and fantasies about what he could do with that mouth came flooding back and the taller boy let out a deep moan shortly echoed by a groan from his boyfriend. They both let their hands wander under decidedly way too many layers. John taking full advantage of Sherlock without robes or a tie, further unbuttoning his shirt to leave a trail of bruising kisses while the taller boy worked on stripping him as quickly as possible. John’s tie and jumper soon joined Sherlock’s on the ground and before long, there was a tangle of discarded clothing behind the greenhouse. 

Between desperate kisses, they confessed everything. Sherlock soon learned he wasn’t the only one who’d been having naughty dreams about the other. And John.. oh John had a very dirty mouth and he could be quite descriptive. Just remembering the things coming out of that mouth would bring a blush to the Sherlock’s face for months to come. Thankfully for them, the only witness to steaming greenhouse windows that night would be the toppled bags of soil and their private star. The boys crossed a lot of firsts off their list over the next few hours.

Once back in Hogwarts, John’s curse of prophecy was fulfilled. The blond escorted Sherlock back to the Ravenclaw rooms as usual. But this time they were making quite a bit more noise. Both riding too high on endorphins to care about the world around them. Giggling and slapping away one another’s hands as leaves and grass were picked from wild hair. Sherlock groaned about the grass stains in his tie when Filch rounded the corner.

“Told you,” John whispered and Sherlock doubled over in a fit of laughter. “But you were worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> warning: I read Harry Potter an estimated trillion years ago and am basing most of this off my memory. Please don’t murder me in my sleep if I misspell or mislabel something. Just tell me gently and I shall amend any errors post haste.


End file.
